


Little Duck

by orphan_account



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Couch Sex, Dom/sub, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, Femdom, Hand Jobs, Pet Names, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Safe Sane and Consensual, Stress Relief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-14 16:10:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2198277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little domination makes for good stress relief.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Duck

Not for the first time, Alistair finds himself unable to get out of something.

He puts down his cell phone on the couch cushion and buries his head in his hands, groaning. Tabris' arms are around his shoulders from behind before he can even turn to complain to her. She smells like cheap laundry detergent, and it's more soothing than it has any right to be. He's glad he got that call at her apartment, rather than in his dorm room.

“Eamon still trying to get you to run for class president?” She asks, her voice tickling the side of his neck. Alistair suppresses a shiver and nods.

“I think he's trying to get me to have a stress-induced mental breakdown so he can stop paying for college,” Alistair jokes, but Tabris doesn't laugh. Instead, she presses a kiss to the nape of his neck, nosing at the soft hair there.

“How stressed are you, duckling? I need a number,” She says, firmly. Alistair blushes a little at the nickname. It had started as a joke, back when he'd had his giant stupid crush on her. Sigrun, one of Tabris' coworkers at the bar (the Grey Warden) had called him Tabris' duckling, a small fluffy blonde thing constantly following Tabris around.

Sometime around the time she first tied his hands to the bedpost and cooed the nickname at him, it had stopped being something she called him in mixed company.

If Tabris is calling him duckling, then it's an order.

“Nine,” He moans. “I feel sick.”

Tabris nuzzles the back of his neck, then leans forward just enough to run her tongue along the shell of his ear.

“Do I need to remind you of who makes your choices, duckling? If it's going to make you unhappy, I won't _let_ you do it,” Tabris tells him, and some of the stress melts down Alistair's spine. He tilts his neck for her, and she nudges his shirt out of the way to suck a hickey onto his collarbone. He exhales shakily as his girlfriend mouths at his neck.

“You _do_ need a reminder,” She whispers, a promise on the border of a threat. Alistair goes from zero to rock hard almost instantly, fully aware of what she means by that.

She extracts herself from contact with him in a single motion, and Alistair gives a whine of protest. Tabris walks around to the front of the couch, giving him a look he knows as 'stop that'. He smiles sheepishly.

“Sorry, Mistress.”

She snorts a little half-laugh.

“Safe word?” She asks.

“Oatmeal,” He replies, and Tabris smiles fondly at him.

“Strip, duckling,” She orders, and Alistair jumps to obey. He nearly loses a button on his shirt in his haste to follow the instruction, and he can _feel_ Tabris smirking at him. It should be embarrassing, but it just makes him feel tingly. Her orders are for his benefit, after all. He feels disturbingly safe under her scrutiny.

She makes a pleased noise when his boxers join the clothing pile, and Alistair flushes under the wordless praise. Tabris steps forward, and the fact that she's standing and he's sitting adjusts the height difference. It feels right to be looking up at her.

She reaches out and gently strokes two fingers up the underside of his cock. Alistair yelps and his hips instinctively try to follow her hand.

Tabris grabs his chin with her other hand, chipped green fingernails digging into his jaw just hard enough to hurt. It makes him want to thrust even more, but he knows what the order is going to be even before she gives it.

“Don't move,” She says, grinning openly at the way his heartbeat rushes under her fingertips, still resting at the head of his cock. Alistair moans softly but forces his hips to stay still. Nails still digging into his skin, Tabris pulls his head up.

“Now, who takes care of you?” Her voice is like sex incarnate and Alistair _loves it_.

“You do, Mistress,” He answers her, his voice raspy. Tabris smiles at him, a real, genuine thing, and Alistair hazily thinks that's his reward just before she sucks his lower lip into her mouth. He groans and he can feel himself twitch against the light touch of Tabris' fingers.

“Who keeps you safe and sane?” She asks, and Alistair sighs blissfully.

“ _You_ do, Mistress,” He replies, and this time, Tabris wraps her hand around his dick properly. He whines helplessly and can't help a little aborted thrust, but he doesn't move past that. He has _orders_. She kisses him.

“That's my good boy,” She coos, stroking him torturously slowly.

“Oh, oh _please_ \--” He breathes, throbbing in her gentle grip.

“Who makes sure you get what you deserve? Who makes you _come_?” She asks, rubbing slow lines up and down his slit with her thumb. Alistair is _shaking_.

“You do, oh _fuck_ , you do, please, Mistress, I need--”

She kisses him to shut him up.

“And who gives you what you need?”

Alistair opens his mouth to respond, but it's cut off by a dry, cracked shout as Tabris switches her gentle touches for indulgent, firm strokes. He writhes and sobs, unable to hold still but trying anyways. Tabris kisses him on the cheek.

“It's alright, duckling. Go ahead,” She says, a softness back in her voice to let him know it's _okay_.

Alistair's back bows almost painfully as he comes in powerful pulses, fisting his hands in the back of Tabris' t-shirt and _howling_.

Once he can think semi-coherently, he lets his head tip back, resting on the back of the couch while he gasps for breath. Tabris cuddles contentedly up to him, peppering his face with little kisses.

“Feeling better?”

Alistair nods sleepily.

“Much.”

“Good. Take a nap, duckling. We'll get takeout and talk it out.”

Alistair hums in agreement. He doesn't bother telling her his order, or even asking where they're getting dinner from.

Tabris always knows what he wants.


End file.
